STRANGERS

On a Friday night, I found myself sitting next to a complete stranger in a park. We sat at opposite ends of the bench, keeping to ourselves and without saying anything to each other.

This stranger was a tall, dark-skinned man with the most beautiful fingers I had ever seen. I sat there watching him swipe through his phone, laughing at memes

I was reminded of Will Smith in his prime by his laugh.What piqued my interest was the fact that I appeared to him to be entirely non-existent. That was unusual for me. I’m the type of girl who attracts attention whether I’m completely dressed or just out and about.

After ten minutes of silence between us, I decided to put on my headphones and listen to some music. I turned up the volume on one of my favorite playlists. The late-night calm in the park allowed my music to permeate through my headphones. He turned around with the largest smile on his face after the second song and murmured something to me. I had no idea what he had just said, so I took a side of my headphones out and asked, “Sorry?” in the calmest tone I’d probably ever said. He smiled at me again, his lips curled into a lovely smile, and he repeated himself. He told me, “You have excellent musical taste.” I replied with a flirty smile and thanked him. We got into a discussion about music and what he enjoys listening to. He offered to show me part of his playlist and proposed that we listen together through his earphones.

We discovered we didn’t even know each other’s names thirty minutes into the most extensive debate about music. He gazed at me for a few seconds without saying anything, then grinned and asked for my name. I despised my given name. I despised the way it sounded. It’s one of those African names that everyone has trouble pronouncing. I was thinking to myself that the discussion was about to be destroyed because I was going to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to explain to him how to pronounce my name correctly. So I blurted out Ejiro and hoped to God he got what I was saying. He returned my smile and remarked, hm Oghenefejiro, and I felt an odd chill run down my spine. He softly extended his hand towards me and said, “Nice to meet you, Eli.” I guessed you were Nigerian since you had that charming African aura.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how nice his hands felt. I have this bizarre thing for fingers. His were beautiful, they looked as nice as they felt, and a mental image of those seductive fingers around my neck flashed through my head as I sat there and smiled at him, trying not to appear distracted.

When he asked if I smoked weed, I snapped out of my mental trance. I grinned and said yes, and he said he had an idea; if I liked, we could walk down to a less conspicuous part of the park to smoke. I thought to myself, Eli, you’re a complete stranger, you could machete me to death, I don’t know you like that. when he leaned forward and said gently, “I promise I’m not a serial killer” All of my concerns vanished with those words, and I found myself nodding gently in agreement.

As he stood up, he became even more handsome than he was before. As I watched him gather up his belongings from the bench, I had a full view of this lovely man and ideas raced through my mind. As he stretched his hand towards me, he flashed me that wicked smile once more. I was delighted to take his hand because I had been longing to feel those fingers again.

In a wonderful awkward quietness, we moved to a darker part of the park until we found the ideal spot and took a seat beneath a tree.

I sat there watching him roll a joint. I quickly realized that everything about this man appealed to me. the way he licked the rizzla’s edges, the way he gripped the blunt and lit his lighter. This was lust.

After lighting the blunt, he extends it towards me with that familiar smirk and asks, “Can you manage your weed?” His inquiry made me grin since it reminded me how much we are strangers to each other. With him, I could be anyone I wanted to be. I didn’t have to be the shy person I was normally. The very concept of it turned me on even more. I looked him in the eyes with newfound confidence and replied, “I can definitely handle that.” He handed me the blunt, which I dragged four times before handing to him. He looked at me differently and added, “I’m pleased I spoke to you on our bench, I wasn’t sure you wanted to be disturbed.” All I could think about was that he said, “our bench.” There is a “ our” now ???

He kept staring at me without moving his gaze and whispered gently, “You’re very beautiful.” I had to think of the exact thing to say because I was reinventing myself here, and my usual fumbling self couldn’t surface just yet.

I leaned in and whispered, “You’re not so awful yourself.”

He started asking me about myself, and I was trying hard not to let my nerdiness show. He asked what I do, and I made freelance writing for a blog sound more enticing than it is.

Every detail I discovered about this man gave a lady boner, an architect, a football fan, a reader, and a foodie. I didn’t want to talk about myself; I just wanted to hear what he had to say. I wanted to know everything about him, even how to please him. What were his ambitions and dreams, and how might I make them a reality?

I was sucked in and wanted more. When the high kicked in for both of us and we grew more relaxed, he offered for me to put my head on his shoulder and wear his jacket. I wanted every opportunity to be near this man, and I wasn’t going to pass it up. So I did exactly what he said. His jacket smelt like baccarat rouge 540, which is my favourite cologne, and this perfume sent some signals to my brain that I didn’t understand.

We were euphoric, listening to music and enjoying the vibe when he looked at me and asked, “Can I kiss you?” As I leaned in for the kiss, he grasped my face with his sexy ass fingers, and all I could think of was all the places I wanted those fingers to be. everything I could do to the tall attractive stranger, everything I wanted him to do to me. He had the most beautiful lips, he was gentle yet stern, the way he swirled his tongue and kissed my neck, the way he ran his fingers all over my body, he made me forget who I was From then on, I only wanted to be whoever he needed me to be.

After a while, he leaned back and muttered to me, “I don’t want this to be random, and it can’t end up being random.” I wasn’t sure what he meant at this point, but I didn’t want him to stop. I responded that it was not and would not be random. Then he suggested we call it a night and meet up again later. This is the polar opposite of how I had hoped the night would unfold. Why was he behaving in such a gentlemanly manner? It was not the time to act like a gentleman.

I stood up, dusted myself off, and gathered my belongings. “You’re incredibly gorgeous,” he mumbled again, smiling. I smiled back and thanked him.

He asked me where I live and offered to walk me home. He lives in a neighbourhood that is extremely close to mine. This made me delighted because it meant I had a good chance of seeing him again.

Because we didn’t speak much on the walk to my apartment, the walk was almost awkward. When we arrived at my apartment, he asked for my Instagram, and we discovered we had a few mutual friends. He took my hands in his and asked if he could see me again, and I was overjoyed to say yes.

He kissed me again, gave me a final peck on the cheek, and quietly whispered, “I’ll surely see you again soon b .”

This man understood exactly what to say to me. He made the appropriate moves that kept me invested. He made the appropriate moves that kept me invested. Why does it feel like he knows so much about me despite the fact that he was just a stranger? As I walked into my building, I smiled and waved goodnight to him.

My night was made, and I had so much to look forward to, which is a sensation I haven’t had in months. The thrill of it all was the biggest turn on. As I walked inside my apartment, I was scrolling through his beautifully curated Instagram, which completely suited his personality.

The first order of business was to tell my girls about the night I had just experienced. It’s been months since I’ve been excited by anyone. My friends were beginning to think there was something wrong with me. As I lay down in my bed, I grabbed a screenshot of my perfect stranger and followed it up with a voice note detailing my incredible night and posted in the group chat.

I left the phone and went to get ready for bed. I got into the shower and took the most peaceful shower I’d ever had, reminiscing about the night I’d just had, the feeling of his hands on my body a memory I couldn’t shake. I was content with the memories he had left me, but I yearned for more.

I came out of the shower and slid into my most comfy panamas, eager to read my friends’ comments, when I noticed 65 messages and ten missed calls from the group chat. Lily, my friend, knew who Eli was; she and Eli’s fiancé were co-workers. They planned to marry in three months. He was getting married to a Nigerian, so it’s no surprise he knew so much about us. An urhobo, to be exact. Of course, he knew how to pronounce Ejioro correctly. My perfect stranger turns out to be far from perfect. Well, he’s not exactly a stranger either.

I went to bed after leaving a message in the group chat. I was too embarrassed to continue talking about it. All I wanted to do now was forget about this night. I didn’t want to remember him in any way. I was irritated because I no longer felt a desire for him. I went to bed feeling the polar opposite of all I had previously felt. I consoled myself by knowing that I had a good time that evening. I blocked him on Instagram and never heard from him again.

To be continued…